


Slightly Damned

by TheBigBadWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, if i knew what that specified, just a bit humorous, mystrade, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigBadWolf/pseuds/TheBigBadWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg almost burps in a bartender's face. John feels sympathy for his kitchen appliances. Sherlock gets it wrong. And Mycroft didn't get his morning tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slightly Damned

It had been a full week since Lestrade’s divorce had been finalized, and John had jumped at the chance to go out drinking with the man, telling Sherlock that it would be nice to do something normal for a change. Now it was just past midnight and John stumbled his way into the flat, fighting his jacket and shoes off with mumbled profanity and the occasional grunt of frustration. Sherlock, from his spot at the window watched with a carefully placed look of indifference.

“Drunk.” Sherlock had meant for that to be internal.

“Slightly pissed.” Was the reply offered up.

“Drunk.”

“Sod off.” John waved a hand in a non-committal direction and stumble his way to the fridge using any bit of wall and pieces of furniture available to steady himself. Opening the fridge he immediately closed it, he clearly drank away any memory of the horrors that lay just inside the harmless appliance. When he made his was back into the sitting room and collapsed into his chair he took a moment to wonder if their poor fridge every regretted its own existence.

While John occupied himself with the meaning of life Sherlock set about making his deductions. The first two had stopped him completely in his tracks and left him grabbing on the back of his own chair, his knuckles turning white. The first detail Sherlock had noticed was the greasy handprint on John’s jeans, just above his left knee. The direction of the print showed it wasn't his own and the size was of it was too big to belong to a woman. The only man John had kept company with that evening was D.I. Lestrade. The second detail showed in John’s lips. Just ever so slightly swollen and pink. Kissed.

Sherlock felt sick. John wouldn’t hesitate to set straight any thoughts on his relationship with Sherlock Holmes or his sexual orientation. However one night at the pub with a detective that wasn’t Sherlock and it appeared as if John had simply changed his mind on the matter of his preferences. Sherlock took a moment to let his anger simmer down into something akin to an ache.

“Try not to drown in your own vomit John. I’m going to bed.” Sherlock let just enough venom seep into his words.

“Hey now,” John who looked as if he dozed off was now trying to focus his eyesight on his flatmate. “I take care of your lanky arse all the time. The least you could do is grab me some paracetamol before you stalk off.” He tried to sound offended but a slight slur had changed the entire tone.

“You know where they’re at John, and you still possess the ability to function.” And with that Sherlock had retreated out of the sitting room and into his bedroom before John could even begin to process a single thought.

The poor, slightly pissed but in reality very much drunk John Watson had instantly forgotten about the tablets and instead focused his efforts on making it up to his own bedroom with vomiting or having to crawl on his hands and knees.

\---

Greg Lestrade had did his best not to burp in the bartender’s face as he paid off his tab. And he tried even harder not to walk into the sleek black car parked just outside the pub’s front door. He would’ve succeeded if the door hadn’t swung open, just barely clipping him in the kneecap. In Greg’s defense he used his momentum from stumbling about to catch the door and lean down next to it to peer inside the car.

“Evening Holmes.” Greg laughed a bit for no reason.

“Good evening Detective Inspector. I believe you’re in need of a lift.” Mycroft Holmes kept his voice almost monotone.

“Christ,” With all the grace of a newborn giraffe Lestrade slid in next to Mycroft and closed the door. “If Sherlock has gone and dissected John just to see what copious amounts of alcohol do the human body…….” He took in a breath. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Mycroft’s mouth had pressed into a line and Greg couldn’t tell if he had reached a whole new level of inebriation or if he had really witnessed Mycroft Holmes suppress a giggle. 

“This visit of mine doesn’t concern my bother.” Mycroft had composed himself within the matter of a millisecond.

“Oh?” Greg wiped something non-existent from his pant leg. “And who does it concern?”

“You and I, Gregory.” The typical Holmesian ‘ _You’re being stupid_ ’ tone had seeped through.

“Oh.” The car had lurched a little on a right turn, Greg took the opportunity to slide into Mycroft’s personal space and if his hand had happened to brush Mycroft’s thigh, well, he could just blame his lack of coordination on the alcohol. “And this business as usual then?” Mycroft would have had a witty reply if Greg had taken the moment to squeeze the other man’s thigh. Excuses be damned.

\--

John groaned and rolled over, which was his first mistake. Overcome with the feeling of sickness he rocketed out of bed, down the flight of steps, through the sitting room, and straight into the bathroom. He hadn’t felt like this since is university days. John would have appreciated the slight nostalgia if he hadn’t been doubled over. Having taken a moment to let things settle he got back up and gave up on returning to bed. He showered and shaved and trudged back up to his room to change. When he returned once more to the sitting room he groaned some kind of response to Sherlock’s unmoving form that was curled up on the sofa. John put himself on autopilot and fixed himself and Sherlock tea then sat down with half a packet of paracetamol and damned himself for drinking so much the evening before. Even if he had enjoyed himself.

“Anything on today?” John’s voice was still rough and even the silence seemed unbearably loud but he suffered through it. When Sherlock didn’t answer John just shrugged and leaned back into his chair, trying to will away the drumming in his head.

The rest of the day had passed just the same. Sherlock only shifted minutely but still said nothing. John had dumped his untouched mug of tea hours before, now he was settled down with his laptop and worked on his newest blog entry. It hadn’t occurred to him that he needed to eat until his stomach made some ungodly noise. He looked at the time, it was well past six in the evening, and then he looked to Sherlock. Mumbling something to him about ordering take away, John shuffled off to find his phone.

When the doorbell rang nearly fifteen minutes later John had expected to find their usual delivery boy instead he was greeted by a beaming New Scotland Yard detective holding onto a greasy bag of takeaway. “Not dead then? That’s good!” Greg gently pushed past John and headed up to the flat.

“And why exactly aren’t you arse over head passed out?” John followed closed behind and tried not to salivate over the smell of hot food.

“Me? I sobered up pretty fast last night mate!” They had made their way into the kitchen, John took the bag from him and began putting plates of food together.

“We have a case then?” John handed a plate over to Greg, grabbed his own and Sherlock’s and led they way into the sitting room.

“No. I took the day off today and tomorrow. And when I say ‘took’ I mean it was required.” Once seated Greg dug into his own food and John followed suit, the only plate untouched was the one sitting on the coffee table waiting for the robe clad back to turn over.

“Not that I’m not happy with a social visit, but if its not a case then what is it you’re clearly dying to tell us?” John wiped a bit of sauce from his mouth and smiled at seeing his friend….dare he say….giddy?

“I’ve gotten permission to announce my exploits of last night, and of this morning, and afternoon.” Greg smirked and waited for it. Of course the ‘it’ he was waiting for had taken a lot longer to happen than what he thought it would. But eventually the robe clad back whipped around and off the couch then over the coffee table, narrowly missing the plate of food, and swiftly stood in front him. Or rather loomed over him.

“You didn’t!” Sherlock had snarled like never before.

“Oh, I did.” Greg twirled the fork in his hand then stabbed back into his food.

“What?” John was lost and it didn’t look as if either them were about to explain.

\--

It was just hours ago he had ungracefully fell into the back of Mycroft's car now Greg was hunched over the best cup of coffee he had ever had in his life and tried not to think about the fact that he was sitting dead center in what was probably the most expensive kitchen in London.................in nothing but his pants. He cleared his throat and changed his train of thought.

“S’pose you’re not a one time kind of guy.” Greg looked up and took in the sight before him. Mycroft Holmes, in a pressed shirt and slacks turned from his preparation of tea and set his full attention onto Lestrade.

“No I’m not.” Mycroft’s voice was gentle but very much serious. “Will that be a problem?”

“God no.” Greg got up from his seat at the island, rounded the kitchen and did his best to rumple that damn pressed shirt and man who was in it. Greg and pulled Mycroft around and pushed his back into the island, taking the cue Mycroft hoisted himself up on it, hardly breaking the lock of lips between them. Tea be damned they made use of the kitchen island.

Slumped down against the cabinets and completely sated Greg ran his fingers along Mycroft’s arm. Despite only just being divorced it had been nearly two since he had last connected with a person on a level like this.

“I take it we’re something of official now?” Greg had kept his voice just above a whisper.

“The choice is all yours Gregory.” Mycroft looked to Lestrade.

“Don’t even Mycroft Holmes.” Greg smiled and kissed him. “You probably had this all planned out.” Another kiss. “Months in advance.” A third kiss. “Forms filled out in triplicate.”

“Quadruple, actually.” Mycroft tried to keep his expression serious but seeing Greg laugh so openly was downright intoxicating.

“Shit!” Greg cut-off mid laugh and nearly choked. “We’ll have to tell your brother.” Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s neck and mumbled on. “He’ll throttle me.”

“No he won’t, because then I’ll throttle him.” Mycroft kissed the top of Greg’s head and continued on. “If you wish to tell him you may. Though I have no doubt he’ll figure it out for himself the second he sees you.” 

\--

Sherlock and Lestrade had been locked into some staring contest and John gave up on trying to understand. He cleared his plate and set aside and waited for whatever conversation was passing between them to end.  Sherlock was the one to break it, he huffed but it turned into a growl and he purposefully knocked a mug of the desk, when is shattered John broke his own silence.

“Sherlock!” John hadn’t bothered to keep the agitation out of his voice. “What the hell?!”

“Oh come off it John!” Sherlock shouted back and not it was him and John locked into some angry stare.

“What’s your problem?!” John took a soldier’s stance; he wasn’t going to back down.

“Mycroft and I have…..” He searched for a way to put but gave up. “Mycroft and I had sex last night. We’ve agreed on starting a relationship.” _Best be adult about this._ Greg had thought to himself.

“Oh.” John’s brained stuttered a bit but he managed to take process the news without much trouble. He turned back to Sherlock and took three deep breaths. “That doesn’t give you the right to around smashing mugs Sherlock, in the very least you should be happy for your brother and if not him then for Greg.”

“I don’t give a damn about my brother! It’s you I’m pissed off with!” Sherlock whirled around to face Greg. “And you! I don’t think Mycroft will be too pleased to hear about what you and John did!” Frustrated, Sherlock pushed past John and headed straight for his room, slamming his door to make a point.

“What…..What did we do?” Greg looked up at John who looked as confused as Greg felt.

“Haven’t the faintest.” John sat back down in his chair. “You and Mycroft then?”

“Yeah….Haven’t talked much about it. Just a lot of….” Greg was promptly cut off.

“Okay! Alright I don’t need that many details!” John shuddered at the thought.

“Right, I should head out then. I’m sure there is a black car lurking around the corner for me.” Greg stood and John followed suit.

“Congratulations mate!” John shook his hand, clapped him on the shoulder and sent Lestrade on this way. Now he just had to figure out how to deal with Sherlock.

\--

John let the man stew for a few hours then went and knocked on his door. He knocked three times with no reply so he gave up and invited himself in. He found Sherlock curled up, back to the door, and wrapped into a cocoon of sheets.

“Sherlock?” John was hesitant to sit on the edge of bed but did so anyways. “Sherlock? You’re going to have to explain to me why you’re so upset. 

“You and Lestrade.” Sherlock’s voice was muffled and John wouldn’t have caught if he hadn’t been slightly leaning into the bed.

“What about Lestrade and I?” John kept his tone patient. He knew Sherlock was genuinely upset. He had only dealt with such instances a few times before but he was quick to master how to handle it. He knew Sherlock would tell him. Would open up. He hadn’t been like that before. But ever since his rooftop battle that ended in a consulting criminal being pushed from a ledge John had made Sherlock swear to tell him when something was going on in that big head of his. John being left out of the loop had nearly cost them both their lives. A lot about that day had changed them both drastically. 

“What you two did last night.” The pout was obvious in his voice.

“What, get pissed at a pub two blocks away?” John was still confused but he was doing his best to work it out.

“And snog Lestrade.” Sherlock added, with a small bite of anger to his tone.

“Wait…..what?” John stopped and instantly recalled every second of that night, and there was no snogging. “We didn’t……Sherlock…..what?” He stammered his was through a chain of thoughts that weren’t quite connecting.

“I saw the hand print on your pants and look of your lips were enough to put the pieces together John. Don’t take me for some fool.” Sherlock would have continued his pout if John hadn’t broken out into laughter. It took him nearly two minutes to calm down enough to form a response.

“Sherlock! We did shots! Several shots in fact, I nearly fell off my stool. Greg had to keep me from busting my head against the damn counter!” John lost himself in a fit of laughter again. Sherlock had however rolled over and studied John intently. When John noticed his brain went into over drive. “Were you….were you upset that we kissed?” John caught his mistake. “Which let me clear up now, we did not!” When Sherlock didn’t respond but softened his look John continued. “You were jealous?” There it was. John had hit the nail on the head.

“You always complain about not being gay and you always correct people when they say we’re in a relationship. Then you go out one night drinking with Lestrade it all appears to change.” Sherlock ran through this argument thousands of times in his head and before he could stop himself he added in another line he had repeated several times in his mind. “Why Lestrade?”

“You’re a complete idiot Sherlock Holmes. I’m not gay. We’re not a couple. And I nothing for Lestrade. I can’t even believe I’m having this conversation. It is completely ridiculous!” John scrubbed a hand over his face. “However, no one ever bothered to ask me if I was attracted to you. And before you say anything,” John held up a hand to stop Sherlock. “Being gay would mean that I would be attracted to other men. And I’m not. It’s just you Sherlock.” He held up his hand again. “And, furthermore we aren’t a couple.”

“We could be.” Sherlock was still pouting but this time it was with a completely different purpose. “It is depressing Mycroft of all people has found himself in a relationship before me.” John burst out laughing again and Sherlock followed suit this time. John cut off mid-laugh only just realizing what Sherlock had said beforehand. Without a moments hesitation he pushed Sherlock over and kissed him harder than he’s ever kissed anyone before.

“Sod your brother. Sod Lestrade. This is us. We’re gonna take it slow. Yeah?” Sherlock rolled his eyes but John quickly remedied that with another kiss.

“I do apologize John. I got it wrong.” Sherlock slipped ever so slightly back into a pout.

“Yeah and if you hadn’t we wouldn’t be here right now……in your bed.” John looked at him pointedly. Another eye roll, another kiss. And another kiss. And another kiss.

The next morning a very happy Sherlock had texted his brother.

**We’ll have to tell Mummy. SH**

**Author's Note:**

> You know.....I had fun with this one!! I hope you guys like it too!!


End file.
